


a cold and empty Bed

by Fogfire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: Unexpected Things Can Change A Life Or Two But That is Okay





	a cold and empty Bed

**Coming Home**

It’s dark already, outside and inside too, when you use your key to open the front door. You’re too tired for a very late dinner or a very early breakfast, too tired to decide what it should be called, too tired to even turn on the lights. Not that you have too.

You have stumbled through his door before, lightheaded too, for different reasons. Long shifts, a few drinks too many or losing yourself in the embrace of the very man you live with.

You know your way around, can hang your jacket and put your shoes away in complete darkness.

Three steps to the left, avoid hitting your shin on the furniture, slip off your dress in the hallway and discard it in the hamper you can easily reach through the open bathroom door on your way to the bedroom.

You open the door slowly, careful to be quiet. Your fingertips find the soft fabric of a shirt thrown over a chair and you take it and slip into it, welcoming the familiar scent to calm you down even further.

Two steps forward and you sink to your knees, reaching out your hands and smiling softly to yourself when there’s warm skin under your fingers.

“Sam,” you caress his face, searching for his shoulders to shake him softly awake, “Sam, wake up.”

He grumbles. “What?”

“Come back to bed. I’m here now.”

“The mattress is too soft.”

You don’t argue with him. There are things you can only try to understand, as confusing as they sometimes are.

“Come on,” you pull his arm again and he follows the motion, allows you to pull him up and with you.

“Tell me,” he mumbles sleepily when he has pulled the blanket over you, curled his body around you, has framed your face with his hands, holding you close, “Why do you own an apartment in the city when you’re always here?”

You’re slipping into sleep already and the question isn’t important, just an ongoing joke none of you wants to let go, but you don’t like unanswered questions and you like that he’s willing to keep talking despite the hour just so your voice can be the last thing he hears. Just so you can enjoy the rawness sleep adds to his words.

“You’re not there,” you answer, the words spoken softly, almost inaudible, “The bed is cold without you.”

“And empty.”

“And empty,” you agree, slipping away, into a dreamless sleep and the warmth of his embrace.

 

**Mornings**

The sensation of a restless body next to yours pulls you slowly out of your slumber.

His ankle rubs against the sole of your feet, his arm brushes yours, the bedsheets whisper when he pulls back his arm and his breath ghosts over your neck, hot and cold at the same time.

“Sam,” you mumble, sleep gluing the words together and cutting out the unnecessary syllables, “Just go for a run already…”

He chuckles.

“You sure?”

Your answer is a snore, fake and exaggerated, but your point is clear.

He chuckles again, presses a kiss against your temple and slips away from you, out of bed.

It’s hard to fall asleep after that.

Your mind is drawn to him, you listen to the muffled sounds of his morning routine, a part of you longing to keep him company, while the exhaustion weighs you down, the warmth of the bed a winning argument.

He’s whistling a tune when he leaves, the front door closing behind him with a soft click and you allow yourself to fall asleep, if only during the time he’s gone running.

 

**Unexpected Things**

“Y/N?” You can hear his voice, can hear an eagerness that can’t be caused by running alone. You spit out toothpaste and rinse your mouth before opening the bathroom door, taking in his appearance, leaning against the doorframe.

“What happened?” you ask, leaning in for a good morning kiss, “You sound so eager.”

“Guess who I met today?”

“Today? As in while running?”

“Exactly.”

“Uhh.. Bono?”

“Bono?” He laughs, catches your hands and pulls you towards him, twirling once you just for fun.

“Not Bono?” You laugh back at him, “Beyonce then? Oh, I know, it was Frank Welker!”

“Frank who?”

You laugh again. “He’s a Garfield Voice Actor. Not him then?”

“No, not a Garfield Voice Actor. Captain America.”

“Captain America? As in Steve Rogers?”

“Exactly.”

“You met Steve Rogers while running?”

He grins and nods and you laugh. “How did that go? Tell me!”

“Over breakfast? I’m cooking.”

“You know me too well.”

 

**Can Change**

Night Shift has been a drag so far. Everything’s a balance of not enough to do to forget the late hour but still enough to keep you on your feet.

All you want is for the sun to come up again and bring you the doctor who will relief you for the day. All you want is to go home, the home that is Sam’s home and his bed and his embrace.

And the Sun goes up and your phone rings and it’s Sam, his voice soft, but urgent at the same time.

“Y/N, don’t come home today.”

“What? Why?”

“That guy, you know, who I met while running? Don’t say his name, just say yes if you remember.”

“Yes?” You look around you, at colleagues and patients, people you know and people you don’t, your heart beating faster than it should, fear creeping up your neck.

“He needs my help. And I can’t pull you into this. So, please, just stay at your own apartment until I tell you it’s safe, okay?”

“But Sam, I can help, I-”

“No, please, just… I don’t know what’s going to happen… I want you to be safe, okay? Just stay at home, read a book, sleep.”

“But the bed is cold without you,” you whisper and he answers with a “Please…” instead of “And empty…” telling you that whatever it is, that is going on, it is entirely wrong.

 

**A Life**

Sam does not call and it’s getting harder to find sleep, even with the short text messages he sends every few hours. You know he’s trying, but “Don’t go outside, if you don’t have to.” and other texts that sound alike are not helping to soothe your nerves.

And then they call you back to work for an emergency because that building on Theodore Roosevelt Island has been hit and there are so many casualties that they need every doctor and every nurse they can get their hands on.

You want to be glad for the numbing distraction of work, but there’s the nagging thought at the back of your mind, telling you the few facts you know.

Captain America. Sam. A dangerous mission. A security building brought down.

There are so many blank spaces in between that you can’t fill out, but it’s enough to leave you worried, to let your heart pick up speed, to freeze in fear every time they bring in someone new, hoping it’s not Sam, praying that he stays alive, stays safe through it all.

 

**Or Two**

“Dr. Y/N, a patient asked for you.”

You’re tired, running on nothing more but adrenaline and strong black coffee, but you’re still far from being through this nightmare when a nurse directs you to another room.

Blond guy, beaten up and unconscious, his features looking familiar through the bruises.

It takes you longer than you want to admit to recognizing him, but when you do you grab his hand, hoping for him to wake up and tell you where Sam is and if he’s safe.

But Captain America does not wake up, not during the whole time you need to patch him up at least.

And when you’re finished and drop down on the chair next to his bed - just for a minute, promise - the door opens.

“I’m coming,” you mumble, searching in yourself for the strength you’ll need to go on.

“Don’t,” a male voice answers and you shoot up and turn around, your eyes seeing Sam, your mind screaming his name in silence, sending your body forward and into his arms.

He smells like smoke, but you don’t care, just pressing your face into his chest, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, “I’m sorry I pulled you into this. I just couldn’t live with you getting in danger.”

“The next time,” you tell him, pulling away from him, your voice stronger than you could have hoped for at this time of the day - or night, you have lost track, “The next time, I’m in. Let me help you. Let us do this together or not at all. Because I’d rather be by your side than worry sick while being in the dark on everything.”

“The next time?”

“Sam… Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t take the chance to go back eagerly.”

He smiles, his eyes holding the mixture of sadness and eagerness that seems to come with the job.

“You know me too well.”

 

**And That Is Okay**

Slipping into bed, into the warmth of a body waiting for him, into a sleepy embrace. Is there a better way to end a day, a mission, a week?

“You smell,” she mumbles and pulls him closer all the same.

“And you’re feet are cold,” he argues back, rubbing his own feet against hers, warming them up.

“Not my fault,” she argues, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “The Bed’s cold without you.”

“And empty,” he answers, embracing the comfort a routine as small as this can give them, especially at times when so much is unsure.

Sometimes, a little comfort is all they have or need.

“And empty,” she ends their little game, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.


End file.
